This Is Not What We Do
by a.lakewood
Summary: Dean leaves Sam to pack up their room as he goes on a supply run and gets back early to find Sam in a compromising position. The argument that follows opens Dean's eyes to feelings he hadn't even know he had for his brother. Underage Wincest.


**Title**: This Is Not What We Do [1/1]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Underage Wincest (Sam's 16). Sam/OMC.  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: ~1600  
**Summary**: Dean leaves Sam to pack up their room as he goes to fill the Impala's tank and stock up on supplies and gets back early to find Sam in a compromising position. The argument that follows opens Dean's eyes to feelings he hadn't even know he had for his brother.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Quarter past nine, the motel room phone rings once. A minute later, it rings again and Dean answers – it's his father. Dean and Sam are to pack up their belongings and whatever is left of John's research taped to the wall near the table and head for Blue Earth, to Pastor Jim's, to meet up with their dad.

Dean slaps the bottom of Sam's foot, rousing his little brother from sleep, then sits on the edge of his bed to pull his boots on. "Get up, Sammy. We gotta get goin'."

Sam rolls over and yawns. "Huh?"

"Dad called. We're gonna meet him at Pastor Jim's. Get showered and packed. I'm gonna go fill up the Impala, restock a few supplies. I'll be back in forty-five."

But it doesn't take Dean nearly as long as he'd thought to get what he'd needs to – the truck stop he'd pulled into for gas carries everything on his short list of supplies. So, within less than half an hour, he's pulling back into the space in front of their motel room. Inside, Sam is nowhere to be found. Dean figures his brother just stayed in bed until the last possible minute and realized, when he went to take his shower, that there were no more dry towels and had gone to the motel office for another. But Dean waits, five minutes pass, and Sam still hasn't walked through the door.

Dean makes quick work packing up all of his things, his dad's research, and most of Sam's, leaving out a change of clean clothes, and tosses their bags into the Impala's trunk as he heads for the motel office. As he passes gap between the last motel room and the separate motel office, he catches sight of two figures pressed up against each other, leaning up against the storage shed at the back of the motel's lot. Judging by the height, probably men – or teenage boys, Dean thinks. There's no way that's Sam dropping to his knees, but Dean knows it _is._ Can tell by the hair and the way Sam holds his shoulders.

What happens next is unexpected, not because of the scenario, but because it's _Sam._ Dean watches the other kid's fingers tangle in Sam's hair as he grips Sam's head and Dean can see Sam's left hand clutching at the kid's hip, his right hand disappearing out of Dean's sight into his lap.

And all the training his father has instilled into him evaporates from his mind for some reason he can't quite fathom as he watches Sam's head start to move. He doesn't plan his attack step-by-step like his father taught him, just acts on impulse, recklessly, and before he's even thought to do it, his feet have carried him across the clearing and right up to Sam and his _friend,_ Dean's fist rocketing out, taking them all by surprise. And the kid Sam had been sucking off is down for the count and Sam – Sam is just staring up at Dean with wide, watery hazel eyes, swollen wet lips wide open, and his dick jutting hard and red up out of his jeans.

A whole myriad of emotions color Sam's eyes in the span of a heartbeat, starting with that open shock and finally settling on an intense, indignant anger. "What the _fuck_, Dean?"

"Seriously? You're _sixteen!_"

"_Really?_" Sam levers himself up off his knees in one smooth movement, nothing like the awkwardness he'd possessed throughout the summer. "You're really going to try playing that card? You're un-fucking-believable." He tucks himself away and strides off towards their room, not even glancing back at the kid still unconscious, cock hanging out of his open pants, sprawled on the grass. "You did way worse shit when you were my age," he tells Dean levelly when they're back in their room, door closed.

"Yeah, but that's _me_-"

"And you haven't changed a goddamn bit – still will fuck any chick you think is hot enough. And I know you've been with guys, too, so don't even pretend like that's what it was about."

"That's not it at all, Sam," Dean says, even though he's still not sure why he'd slugged that kid.

"So, then, what is it, Dean? What so wrong about me going down on my boyfriend, huh?"

Dean's breath falters at that. "Boyfriend?"

"Three weeks," Sam says proudly, shoulders back and chin up, looking smug. "Which is, what? About two weeks, six days, and twenty-three hours longer than any relationship you've ever had."

"Take a shower and get dressed so we can get the hell out of here," Dean replies, not wanting to fight with his brother and just get on the road.

"You know, there's more to life than this crazy-ass, goddamn hunt. Dad's no closer to finding the thing that killed Mom than he was fifteen years ago. What's the point? I'm sick and tired of his stupid rules. I want _friends_. I want to date and get in trouble and have fun and just be a fucking teenager for once! Is that really so much to ask?"

"Just hurry up." Dean turns his back on Sam, walks over to the TV and flips it on before taking a seat at the end of his bed.

But Sam isn't letting it go. "I can't _believe_ you! Why are you so mindlessly loyal to Dad?" Sam moves in front of Dean, blocking the view of some Saturday morning infomercial.

"This is the life we got, Sam. This family – you, me, and Dad – that's what we've got. So grow up and deal with it."

"Yeah, well maybe I want a _different life._ Different _family._ Maybe I can't _wait_ 'til I'm old enough to get the hell out of here."

The flat of Dean's palm connects with the pale softness of Sam's cheek, Sam's head snapping suddenly to his right, before realizes what he's done, the sound of it hanging in the still air between them.

Sam's long fingers gingerly touch the bright red skin as he looks at Dean with hurt in his eyes from under the overgrown hair that falls across his forehead. Dean's never hit him before - their training, the sparring their father forces them to do, doesn't count. Dean's never been this angry at him before.

It's the threat of Sam leaving that suddenly shifts everything into focus and he didn't hit Sam out of anger but out of fear. Dean's shaking hands slowly rise from where they're hanging slack at his sides and move to cradle Sam's face. "Fuck, Sam. I'm sorry." And Sam isn't pulling away like Dean expects him to, presses closer, his hands briefly cover Dean's before they slip down his forearms and leave tingling trails like static electricity in the wake of his touch.

"Dean."

"Sam?"

"Please?"

Sam could be asking for anything, but the question is so clear in his eyes as they briefly flicker down to Dean's mouth before they meet Dean's gaze again. Sam's breaths are coming shallow and quick, and they hitch when Dean's body is flush against his as Dean presses him against the wall. And this- this is the why Dean didn't know earlier. Sam has been his since the moment their father put him into Dean's arms nearly sixteen years ago. He tilts his head, leans towards Sam. "You sure?" he asks, lips a hair's-breadth away from his brother's.

Sam answers by slotting his mouth over Dean's, his hands falling to Dean's hips to pull his brother's body closer. And Dean's barely pressed against him before Sam's breaking the kiss on a gasp, damp heat spreading through their jeans as Sam comes incredibly, almost painfully, too soon.

Dean trails his wet lips over the warmth of Sam's struck cheek. "You okay?"

Sam nods. "That was embarrassing," he whispers, voice thick, as he buries his face in Dean's neck.

"Don't worry about it," Dean mouths against an exposed patch of skin on Sam's throat. He pulls away to look Sam in the eyes again. "I'm sorry," he says. "About earlier." His hand ghosts over the welt on Sam's cheek.

"Dean." Sam shakes his head.

"I know you want to be normal and I'm sorry you can't. If I could give that to you, Sammy, believe me, I would. But...this life we've got with Dad, it's not easy, but he keeps us safe."

Sam scoffs, is about to say something, but Dean cuts him off.

"We've gotten hurt, yeah. But we're always okay because of what Dad's taught us. It's not ideal, but we're together, Sam. And that's enough for me." The way Sam's gaze drops from his face tells him that maybe it's not enough for Sam. Going by what Sam had unloaded on him minutes ago, it's not really a surprise. Dean presses another kiss to Sam's mouth and backs away. "Go shower and get ready. I'll meet you out in the car."

Sam bites at his bottom lip, eyes wide and regretful. Looks like he wants to say something, but is having trouble finding the words.

"It's okay, Sam. Go." But it's not. Not really. Sam's going to grow up, going to go away, and leave Dean alone and unable to protect him. It's not how things are supposed to be, but their lives have never really gone according to any real sort of plan. Something always on the fly until their father tells them _his_ plan. And that's not the life Sam wants. Wants his own plan, seems to already be devising his own.

It's not how things should be, but it's how they are.


End file.
